


For King and Country

by 0positiv



Category: James Asher Vampire Series - Barbara Hambly, Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0positiv/pseuds/0positiv
Summary: Because his mother is futilely trying to play matchmaker Thomas Nightingale finds himself meeting the Asher family and gets a glimpse of the intriguing past they bring with them.





	For King and Country

**Author's Note:**

> When this plot bunny started pulling at my trousers and demanded I write it I was rather aware that it would most likely have an audience of one (namely me xD) but oh well.  
> If you haven't read the Rivers of London series by Ben Aaronovitch and/or the James Asher vampire books by Barbara Hambly I very highly recommend both. They feature fantastic storytelling and characters and my writing can not do them justice. Just read them ;)  
> I am not sure how much sense this fic will make if you haven't read both book series but I hope someone might enjoy it anyway :)

Thomas wasn’t quite sure how his mother even came to know the Willoughby family. He suspected it was part of that completely incomprehensible web of finishing school connections the daughters of the upper middle class were told to cultivate with the daughters of the upper class.

And by all accounts - mainly his mother’s and aunts’ - the Willoughby family was about as upper class as one could be. And, also according to his mother and aunts, having the sole heir to the fortune marry a professor of philology who did not have an Honourable or any other title to his name had been the scandal of the decade back then. 

But those waves had all been smoothed over by now and being married to a man far beneath her station (according to mother and the aunts) didn’t make Lydia Asher any less rich or her daughter any less the heir of said money.

With his older brothers already married or betrothed and the young Mistress Asher’s coming out this season Thomas’ mother was determined to at least make the ‘two children’ - her words, not his - meet. “Who knows, you might be perfect for each other”, she’d exclaimed and beamed at him. Meaning, he knew, that he should better try his very best to win the young woman’s hand and with it her mother’s money.

Thomas had merely sighed, said “Yes, mother”, and allowed her to flutter into feverishly scheming action on which society event would be best suited to this endeavour. 

Thomas left her and the aunts to it, knowing that even at the age of 28 and very much a man he would never win an argument with his mother about what she thought best for him or the family. He should have known she’d have an ulterior motive when she had invited him over for some ‘family time’ before his father’s birthday next week.

It was completely incomprehensible to his family how he could be nearly 30 and yet still unwed. He had always hoped being the youngest son would take any such obligations away from him, his other sibling were doing well in continuing the family line and business after all. 

He’d thought when they sent him to Casterbrook that it equalled the bygone tradition to have the youngest son join the clergy. He had been happy at the school, even happier now at the Folly, and had never even spared a thought for marriage or children of his own. 

As he kept telling his colleagues at the Folly he was a confirmed bachelor and likely to remain so. If he sometimes spent more time with David than was strictly necessary no one ever raised an eyebrow or connected it to his complete lack of female company.

But of course his mother wouldn’t want to let even the smallest chance pass her by to see her family connected to the Willoughbys. Thomas merely hoped he wouldn’t bore the poor girl to tears. She was only 16 after all, what would they even have to talk about?

 

\---------------

 

A surprising amount, as it turned out. Miranda Asher had not only inherited her mother’s striking red hair but apparently also her quick, scientific mind. Having been tutored by the finest teachers her parents could find Miranda could converse intelligently on any manner of subject from mathematics to current political events and she voiced even controversial opinions with a confidence far beyond her years. 

Through some connections of owed favours and called in debts his mother had arranged for Thomas to be seated next to the young Mistress Asher at this rather stuffy formal dinner at one of the best restaurants in London. 

Mrs. Asher, who was chaperoning not only her own daughter but two of the girl’s cousins as well was seated farther down the table and kept smiling whenever she caught sight of her daughter enthusiastically gesturing to emphasise whatever point she was currently making. 

Thomas enjoyed the evening immensely, the food was superb and the company invigorating yet he still felt like an impostor. 

How could he let this brilliant young girl even for a second believe that he was a possible suitor and maybe keep her from the other young men who were throwing him murderous glances for dominating her time like this?

When the meal was finished and the guests departed together for a stroll through the nearby park Thomas pulled Miranda aside.

“Miss Asher, I have very greatly enjoyed our conversation yet I think it only fair to let you know that I am merely here to please my mother. I fear, as lovely as you are, that I have no intention of courting you. And I understand if you would rather spend your time with a few of the other, and younger, men for the rest of the evening…”

He had trailed off uncertainly at the sight of her growing smile and the amused twinkle in her eye.

“Oh Mr. Nightingale, I have been aware that you do not fancy me in the slightest about five minutes into dinner. But I would far rather spent the evening with a man who can hold his own in intelligent conversation than with someone who might be interested in marrying me for my parents’ money yet is as dumb as a tree stump.”

With that she had taken his arm and lead him back out onto the path to continue their earlier conversation about his last trip to Egypt and before he was even aware where they were headed Miranda was already introducing him to her mother who joined into the conversations as eagerly as her daughter. Thomas thought he was quite the envy of every man present with those two beautiful ladies by his side and it was surely not for the quality of the conversation. 

When the outing drew to a close and the different parties called for their drivers Miranda put one of her father’s business cards into his coat pocket and ordered him to write her soon to finish his story about his trip to Rome. On his way to his own car Thomas kept a wary eye out for any man who would try and stab him in the back for this apparent favouritism. 

 

\----------------

 

“I merely wanted to meet this young man who keeps sending my daughter letters that have her grinning from ear to ear like it’s Christmas morning”, Professor Asher said as Thomas met him in the foyer of the Folly. Even with his hair mostly grey and leaning slightly too heavily on a walking stick James Asher still looked more fit than most men his age. The hand that shook Thomas’ own was steady and the grip firm. Asher’s eyes still had the brightness of a young man and yet he perfectly looked the part of the quintessential stuffy old college don. 

“I promise you, Professor Asher, that my intentions towards your daughter are completely honourable and that we merely share a love for knowledge”, Thomas told him as he lead his visitor towards a quieter corner of the smoking room.

“Cigarett? Brandy?”, he offered when they were both seated.

“Just some tea would be nice”, Asher replied. “I never was much of a smoker and I fear after a bout of pneumonia around the Great War my lungs have never been quite as sturdy as they used to be.”

Thomas nodded his understanding and ordered tea for both of them. He had made some discreet inquiries into the Asher family before meeting Miranda just so he would know which topics might lead to uncomfortable places and were thus better avoided.  

He had not expected to have so many people lift an eyebrow at Professor Asher’s name and say that he had ‘done good work’ for his country, in the Great War and before. A euphemism, Thomas was quite aware, for that nebulous spy agency at the Foreign Office. 

And before meeting him Thomas had not been entirely sure that those claims about Asher, who was after all an academic and not a soldier, had been entirely accurate. Yet once he sat across from the man and watched him play the part of protective but harmless father while still never missing the smallest detail about the Folly or its inhabitants Thomas was suddenly sure that it had all been true. 

Looking his visitor over more closely following this observation Thomas became aware of a few things that did not quite fit in with the rest of Asher’s appearance. His gaze caught by a glint of silver underneath his shirt cuff when the Professor reached for his tea Thomas saw several rows of silver chains around his wrist. There were fading scars underneath matching the ones the had been revealed on Asher’s neck when he’d taken off his scarf and coat. Finding his eyes drawn to them once again Thomas’ brow wrinkled in thought.

“Souvenirs from Paris, and other places,” Asher remarked with dark humour, pulling Thomas out of his thoughts.

“I am sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Nightingale, I am a bit surprised you even noticed. Most people don’t.”

Asher shrugged and sipped from his tea, apparently quite unconcerned and at ease. 

“So, is it true you’re a wizard then?” Asher had asked the question with such an offhand tone and disinterested inflection that Thomas nearly said ‘yes’ without thinking.

Instead he pressed his lips together and just lifted an eyebrow.

“Now what would make you ask me such a thing?”

“Oh, I just heard a few things about you, and this place, from old colleagues and a few….friends of mine. I think if even half the things I have heard are true you should prepare yourself to be quite a bit more busy this coming decade. The climate on the continent is not quite as tranquil as it may look.”

The rest of the evening was a stimulating exercise in holding a conversation where both parties were not quite sure how much the other knows and where both were trying to find out as much as possible without giving any of their own secrets away. Thomas hadn’t had that much fun in months and from the small smile that would never quite leave Asher’s lips it seemed his guest felt the same.

 

\--------------

 

A few years after Nightingale came home from the Second World War - and he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that within half a century there had been two of those - he received a sorrowful letter from Miranda and enclosed a black rimmed envelope containing the date of a funeral. 

Sitting with Miranda, her husband and her mother in the front pews Nightingale felt like he was intruding in their time of grief. How well did he know the family, really? He had merely exchanged about a letter a month with Miranda, oftentimes less, and met both her parents only once. And yet when the service started Miranda reached out and held his hand just as tightly as her husband’s.

The church was full of people, even though it was, strangely enough, a night time service. 

James Asher had been popular and well liked and many of his former students as well as colleagues from both of his career paths made an appearance. Nightingale was surprised that some of the faces he recognized were rather high up the political ladder.

And, far back at the end of the crowd, Nightingale thought there were a few people he could never quite focus his eyes on. He might see someone sitting in a both, one or maybe two people, out of the corner of his eye, yet every time he looked closer there was no one there. 

His mind recalled the time he had spent with Professor Asher in the smoking room at the Folly, remembered the faded scars at his neck and arms, and he shivered. Some things were better left unacknowledged, even to a wizard. And if Mrs. Asher lingered a moment too long in an apparently empty dark corner after the service was over and the guests departed he carefully took no notice and quietly said his goodbyes to Miranda instead. They promised to write each other more often and she asked him to their country house in the summer to meet her children, who had heard so many stories about ‘Uncle Thomas’ and were desperate to meet him.

 


End file.
